“There are plans in place for that. We’ve requisitioned a good deal of motor transport, and there’s a passenger liner moored at Corpus Christi that can take most of the town’s civilians in one trip – just as well the army built those riverine docks bigger than anyone thought they’d need. Do what you need to do to fight, General; you will have my full support.”
“IX Corps has the entire southern line, and there’s some units training at Fort Worth. Those can move south to protect Houston. We can start shifting forces from El Paso to San Antonio on the Southern Pacific line... But it’s risky, Governor. If the Martians catch those troop trains en route...”
Colquitt managed a smile. “Sounds like you need some scouting units out ahead of them, General. I believe the LRSC is based in El Paso as well? And of course, the Rangers are at your disposal... indeed, all of Texas is.”
They fell to their tasks. As Lang worked furiously to plan the movement of two full divisions’ worth of troops and vehicles, something nagged at him. By midmorning, he broke off to question the telegraph clerks, and then sought out Funston.
“Sir, we’ve had two messages in the past hour from Realitos, the next station east along the Texas-Mexican railroad. No sign of Martians.”
Funston frowned. “Odd. Have they slowed to regroup?”
“But sir, that’s barely ten miles further east! They must have either stopped or gone due north. No reports from Freer to the north, though. I think they’ve halted somewhere around Hebbronville.”
“Why in hell would they do that?” said Funston. His face fell. “Good God. They’re going to build one of their bases there! This is just the beginning of their invasion... and if we can’t stop it, they’ll spread through all of Texas.”
Cycle 597,845.1, Prey transport system, River 3-12
“We have reached a peak energetic signature zone, Group Commander,” reported Raqtinoctil.
“Acknowledged,” replied Taldarnilis. “All groups, concentrate on my position and commence deployment to construct the mine and holdfast.”
The simplicity of that order belied how complex the task was. First, the prey transport machine was halted; the machines of the Race converged on it and removed key assemblies from some of its cars. Raqtinoctil, in charge of the mine construction, made a brief survey of the area and chose a nearby site for the digging and catalyzing machinery to be assembled. Once the critical units had been moved, the few haulers available spread out – although to a smaller perimeter than a conventional, permanent holdfast would require – and used their manipulators to begin pushing a berm into place that would encircle the whole operation. It was imperative that the prey not grasp what was being done here for as long as possible; there were too many vulnerable areas to defend to the degree Taldarnilis would prefer – to say nothing of Group Leader Vantarsilas, who would undoubtedly be in contact soon.
By nightfall, Taldarnilis considered the operation well under way. Raqtinoctil – whom it had left undisturbed to work – reported back that the ground was indeed sedimentary rock in thin layers, far more practicable to dig than the volcanic rock encountered previously. “I do have a concern, however.”
“Communicate it.”
“Every member of the Race at this site will be pushed to its limit due to the pressure of time. There will be no attention to spare to watch the goodprey or the prey stored for nutrition. I have noted there is no provision in the plan for confinement cells in the holdfast.”
“Correct. The prey transport machine will remain at the west perimeter. It has been realigned to be able to proceed westward as soon as the cars have been filled with compound 92-12. All prey will simply remain within the transport machine’s cars.”
“Commander, it concerns me that we make all effort to keep the prey outside of this... minefast... while allowing others to be within it. That is an undefinable threat.”
“Perhaps,” agreed Taldarnilis, “but all members of the Race are to remain within their fighting machines other than to obtain nutrients. The goodprey have no access to any weapon that can penetrate the compartment of one. This is no conventional holdfast, Raqtinoctil.”
“I am aware of that,” said Raqtinoctil dryly. “Is the commander then certain that the goodprey have not obtained any other weapons while being allowed to salvage freely in two different habitation centers during the journey?”
“No, the commander is not. However, it is a small risk compared to others we must take. Other groups across this world have also made use of goodprey with no difficulties to date. I do not believe the prey, or even the goodprey, have any intellectual capacity or drive beyond mere survival, avarice, and avoidance of unpleasant stimuli – certainly nothing on the scale of the Race.”
March 1912, Martian Base, Texas
Ronald Gorman, having completed his day’s work for the Masters, wandered the length of his small kingdom: four rail passenger cars attached to the locomotive that had faithfully brought them from Mexico to a spot a few miles east of Hebbronville, Texas. Hot and stuffy, perhaps; and yes, anyone who set foot outside would be burned down unless they carried a pendant to protect them; but his!
There had been a certain glee in watching the American border guards at Laredo fleeing from his onrushing train. Why, hello there boys, I’ve come back! And I’ve brought friends! And all without help from that pestilent U.S. ambassador. Clearly, Providence had intervened. It had become more clear as time passed that Dr. Ronald T. Gorman, LL, was slated for great things. He’d always known it, of course, but there had been... difficulties. But now all those had been cleared away in the great sweep of interplanetary history unfolding.
The fourth car’s door was guarded by two of his men who stood on the connecting platform. “Good evening, Garcia,” said Gorman. He smiled at the irony; Garcia was a cattle thief, and this was a cattle car. “What did the Masters deliver upon us? I’m curious.”
Garcia spat. “Some peasants. It’s a great joke that they fled all this way, just to be caught up for food anyway... Would you like to visit?”
“Certainly.”
Garcia unlocked the door and opened it cautiously, fingering the revolver in his belt. But the humans ranged in the car were no threat. They’d strung a chain the length of the car and attached the lot of them at intervals. Stripes of sunset light through the planked walls painted them, shifting as a few moved. The hay strewn in the car was still sweet; that wouldn’t last. Nor would they. History unfolding.
He wandered down the line; peasants, yes, dirty and terrified. A townsman in a rumpled suit called out to him; he swatted an outstretched hand away without looking. Garcia clubbed others into silence. They’d need water, of course. If the Masters did not provide it in a day or two, he’d have to ask de Gama to communicate the need to them...
Further down the line, a woman turned to look at him; dressed in white as some others were, but unstained, pure. He halted, blinked. “Extraordinary. Who are you?”
“Don’t speak to her!” cried the townsman. “I’m the man you need! I know the Flores brothers. I can be of great help!”
“I have no need of socialist agitators,” said Gorman without turning. “Everything is as it should be here.”
“The Flores brothers are anarcho-syndicalists,” said the woman in a withering tone. “Like Targas there. You should at least know who you are killing.”
Gorman smiled. “Are you a politician?”
“A schoolteacher.”
“Oh, goodness!” Gorman lifted a hand. “Miss! May I ask a question?”
She turned her head away.
“Now that you have met the Masters, do you suppose that anything human beings do will matter from now on?”
Her face worked in profile; then she flicked her gaze back to him. “Yes. In fact I think it matters more than at any time before in history.”
History. He gazed intently upon her. Such intelligence, such courage... “No, I believe that I misspoke... almost as it should be here.”
&nbs
p; A king must have a queen.
The men had more base appetites than his; there was no time to lose. “Garcia! Bring this one forward.”
They left the cattle car behind for the more amenable third-class car which housed his men: five besides Garcia, most slouched on the seats and berths. Eyes followed them, but no one spoke out. Gorman opened the connecting door to the next car and gestured the woman forward. As she stepped through, he said quietly, “Anyone who touches this one is next to feed the Masters.”
Shrugs and nods answered. Of course they were sated now, after the Lampazos raid. That might change in time.
The next car held only two men: de Gama, dressed at last in decent if shabby clothing, and the engineer Mendez, who glanced over dully. Boxes of supplies crammed most of the space ahead of them; they threaded past them. Gorman noted that the woman looked carefully about her as she walked. This queen would need watching...
She stopped dead in the next car’s doorway.
“Well, go on,” said Gorman. He placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her in; she shook it off. “What do you think? It belonged to a vice-president of ASARCO, I believe. My men and I liberated it from the town of Lampazos.”
She turned, studying the brass-gilt lamps, lace curtains, red velvet upholstery. “It reminds me more of a brothel,” she said in English.
“You’ve noticed my accent, then.” Gorman switched to the same language. “I hail from Tennessee, originally. Studied mineralogy and law, but I preferred working on my own, really. Mining, exploration... There are – were – great opportunities in Mexico for men such as myself. I suppose in a way there still are...”
“Opportunities! Murder, enslavement... It’s impossible to believe that men like you are working for... those.”
“Oh, not really.” Gorman settled into a banquette and reached down a cigar. “Why, this very train is a metaphor for our human society. You do see it, don’t you? The lowest class, doomed to suffer and feed those above it – the middle or professional class, desperate not to slip back into poverty – and then those of us who are fortunate enough to serve directly. The Masters – the Martians – they exist outside of the system entirely, of course. And they are destroying it.” He sparked a match, puffed the cigar alight. “Who knows what they’ll replace it with...”
“But they’ll destroy you as well! Like everyone else!”
“Given time, yes. But it will take a very long time. The United States is a very big country. And the world is even bigger. I will be needed for years to come. You could be, too, Miss...?”
She huffed out a breath. “Idar. You don’t need to know anything else.”
“I am Dr. Ronald Gorman, Miss Idar. And we have a great deal to talk about.”
March 1912, San Antonio, Texas
“Where in the hell have you been?” demanded Adjutant-General Hutchings.
Emmet Smith drew a long breath. “Well, sir, I was in Laredo for most of December; then I got myself attached to Company D in El Paso while they found time to get involved with illegal alcohol sales and smuggling there. By February I was back in Laredo–”
“I meant in the past week,” snapped Hutchings. “All Rangers were supposed to have reported back to the camps nearest them. There’s still three unaccounted for.” He paced two steps behind the desk and wheeled like a caged animal. His Guard uniform now sported the two stars of a major-general.
“I can account for Ranger Stanford; he’s dead.”
“What? How?”
“Heat ray. He was in Laredo when the Martians came through. Tried to get the civilians out in some kind of order, find some cover for them to follow. He got caught out in the open at the wrong time.”
Hutchings settled into his chair. “Ah. I see. We knew there’d be casualties...” He picked up a pen and drew a careful line through a ledger. “My clerk will see to it. Poor fellow. Say, how do you know what happened?”
“I was there too. Luckier than Stanford. He was a good man, sir.”
“Yes. Well, you do look rather dirty. Best get cleaned up; it doesn’t send a good message to the populace.”
“There was a burning building involved at one point. Sir, what’s our situation here?”
Hutchings shuffled out a map. “That’s why I sent for you. The Rangers have been shuttling back and forth around the rail lines, keeping watch for any raiding tripods, along with that motor touring club – the LRSC. But the Martians haven’t made any further attacks at all. Other than holding Laredo, they’ve settled themselves somewhere near Hebbronville, and we don’t have a clue as to why they’re there – or what they’re doing. You’re to take two men and drive to near the Seven Sisters camp, say here,” he pointed with a manicured finger, “and obtain horses, then scout that area properly over the coming weeks. I want to be able to tell His Excellency about anything and everything that’s there.”
Emmet rubbed his jaw. “Aren’t scouting reports going to the army now? The 28th Cavalry is still active north of Laredo, I know that for a fact. They helped us get those people out. Maybe we could work along with them.”
Hutchings shook his head vigorously. “No, no – you’ll report to me, Smith. The Texas National Guard is up to division strength now, and I’ll be leading it in this campaign against the invasion. The Rangers and the Guard are staying independent.”
“I thought the Guard was activated as a federal force by now. Aren’t you part of Second Army?”
“And put Texas men under Washington’s command? No, we are not. His Excellency had a long talk with General Funston and laid down the law – our law. We’re our own men in this fight – the 1st Texas Home Guard Division.”
“Ah. I see.” Emmet suspected privately that Funston had little interest in being saddled with thousands more men with little equipment – led by a freshly promoted general with no experience. If they could handle routine support tasks on their own, though, that would free up regular army units with the firepower to face the Martians to be concentrated into a striking force under Funston. Like many things, it was probably a political compromise. But if scouting information was being hoarded, that wasn’t good...
Hutchings waved at an eastern part of the map. “Second Army’s IX Corps is mainly deploying around Alice. Of course they have a great deal more tanks and artillery than we do – Washington’s given them everything – and they can be expected to do the brunt of the heavy fighting. But our men know this country far better than some fellows from back East. If we can get vital information first, we might not have to be sidelined – we might even lead the attack!”
Dear God, I sure hope not. But I have my job... “I understand, sir. We’ll leave first thing tomorrow.”
Chapter 10
April 1912, Veracruz, Mexico
Another argument had erupted among the transplanted government of Mexico.
Henri Gamelin settled back in his gilt chair and waited with the patience he’d learned by now. Admiral Faverau, who spoke no Spanish, had been spared attending these planning sessions and was glad to delegate it to him.
The Municipal Palace, once the seat of governance for the province of Veracruz as well as the city, had been repurposed as a national chamber – to the ruffled-feather fury of the governor of Veracruz, displaced into an administrative office blocks away. Twenty-two men now occupied its largest conference room. Most had some importance or other, but Henri had learned whose bluster to ignore... and which quiet figure held real power.
One of those quieter men now uncharacteristically banged an inkpot on the table. “That’s enough! The appropriations will proceed unmodified. There are sufficient funds to pay the soldiers of both corps at 1909 levels.” General Victoriano Huerta pushed aside the inkpot and glared about him with his pale eyes. “They will be content with that. I am content with my pay, am I not? It has not changed either. Any man who is willing to fight and die for his country in such a time of great peril cannot quibble about money! Let us proceed.”
With grudgin
g approval, the appropriations were passed. While many divisions were still evident, the electrifying news three weeks previously of a Martian invasion of the southern United States had at least imparted some energy. General Huerta appeared to channel it himself as he looked about him. “I now invite General Mangin to speak.”
Charles Mangin shoved back his chair and rose. “I can now announce that, with the approval and oversight of the governments of both Mexico and France, a joint military expedition is to be prepared.” His Spanish was surprisingly good; he’d been known to pick up languages quickly, although Henri suspected that most of the speech was by rote. “It will consist of IV Corps of the reconstituted Mexican army, supported by some of our own forces. I plan to take the 22nd Division from the II Corps and the 112th and 118th striking vehicle battalions from the XI Corps, plus some artillery and support units. Embarking at Veracruz, it will proceed to Corpus Christi in the United States for offloading. Its orders are to carry out a joint attack on the Martian presence within the state of Texas.”
Many faces showed surprise. A few did not; one was Colonel Angeles, who smiled thinly. Henri knew that he’d brought his fresh artillery batteries to a high degree of efficiency and hadn’t been looking forward to sending them into a Hell of urban streetfighting. An open battle would be more favorable.
“We anticipate two months’ time to prepare the force and assemble it at Veracruz, and another month to ready it in Texas.”
The head of the federales police force jumped to his feet. “I would ask the general, if this force is nearly ready, why do we not attack and retake Mexico City?” A ripple of agreement followed.
Huerta lifted a hand before Mangin could reply. “An army is of no use until it has been blooded. This assault will allow us to build strengths and find weaknesses. We have already been repulsed once from Mexico City, and we cannot afford to fight and lose there again. The effect on national morale would be disastrous. But this new Martian outpost will be weak as yet – it will make a fine practice target. And the Americans will be attacking as well; we need only do our part.”
The Texas Front: Salient Page 14